me and pretty

Almost 2 years ago, I briefly met a gentleman named Bernard Purdie. He was playing a show with Cut Chemist here in Toronto. I shook his hand. To most that doesn't mean much, yet what many don't know, is that "Pretty" Purdie is the most recorded drummer of all time. I really don't need to sit here and list his credentials, because if you have the time you should do that yourself. The list is staggering (he's recorded on over 4,000 albums).

I came across this video earlier today and it simply reminded me of "the passion" (direct Lizard King quote). It reminded me that it's not the task to learn or love something; it's the love. As I sat and watched Purdie simply tap the drum skins, I remember that this is what passion looks like. A love for doing what you do. It's that kind of passion that makes me believe in everything I love doing. I believe true passion is not giving a shit about the outcome, but more just looking at your objective and jumping into bed with it, with only time on your side.

Go have fun doing what you love everyone, and maybe watch a little "Pretty" while you're at it.

have a nice fucking day!

I have no idea what provoked these. I think it's because every time I see the image directly above, I utter the words "have a nice fucking day!", because it just screams energy, even though it's insanely grotesque haha. Come to think of it, most of them are pretty fucking ugly. Enjoy, and use them in any way you'd like. You can't say quality blogging is dead.

drifters

I firmly believe that an artists value should not only be validated through the content of their work, but also the incessant need to create it in the first place.

The only condition in which I'd actually look myself in the mirror and call myself an "artist" (a debate that has been touched upon many times on this site) is that I just want to lay all my ideas down somewhere I can see them. I don't really give a shit if anyone ever sees them; I just need to know I made them. In fact, 90% of all the work I've ever made sits in the dark. However, I experience solace knowing that it even transpired.

It shocks me to hear that some of my closest friends, who's works of art I once loved in the past, have nearly completely abandoned their love for creating more work and/or have barely made any since our last encounter. I don't understand how a once burning passion to created images was simply done and done-with after a certain point in their lives. Isn't it something that should just burn like an ember inside of you?

Personally, I know that once I have an idea in my head, it's go time. I smirk to myself, write or type it in detail (because one time I was drunk and wrote "family security" on a piece of paper and had no idea what the fuck I was getting at the next day), and then sleep on it. That entire night, I'll lay in bed with the sensation that I'd just won the lottery and didn't want to tell anyone. I then damn-near run to my studio within days to get things moving on a canvas. Nothing can get in the way of this kind of speed, because usually I know exactly what the finished pieces are going to look like, almost how a chef can taste the food before it's been prepared.

So for me to hear that ones inspiration to create is all but lost, it confuses me more than anything. I was going to say it saddens and upsets me, but a lack of motivation and drive are not character traits I hold very high. If you want to make it, make it. If not, just keep drifting.

twitted

got myself a Twitter account.

come join me at www.twitter.com/andicles

Blair Whatmore would be glad to hear that nickname still lives.

happy trails.

i sweat

I'm all done my drum recordings.

Am I pleased with the parts? For now, yes.

Am I happy it's over? Fuck no.

We stretched the recording session over two days at the Ontario Institute of Audio Recording Technologies. Since we recorded two songs with some young blood there over a year ago, we were pretty familiar with the studio space. This time around we recorded in a separate room from the control center, which was nice for me because I didn't feel as if I was under a microscope the entire time from everyone watching. Just me and the Lodge.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain a few things seen in the second recording diary.



The "acoustic demo's" seen being recorded at the very beginning of the video are strictly for my benefit and will never make the actual recording. They are just for me to play along with and are recorded to a metronome.

I brought six shirts this time mostly for jokes, and for the fact that it's hotter than hell in that room and I play with a little bit of impact to say the least. And I sweat. When I'm drumming, oh boy do I sweat.

What get's me most is when people come up to me after shows, hug me or touch my back, and become disgusted by the amount of sweat on me. What, are you fucking surprised? What do you think would happen to you after an hour of using every extremity to it's peak stamina? Do you think you'd break a sweat after pounding the shit out of something while sitting under KFC heat lamps, on stage, in a 20-plus degree club? You're damn right you would. So please, try not to be surprised when you come in for a hug and I warn you that your clothes may not come out the same once the embrace is over. Because drumming is a sweaty procedure. Trust me.

I should say something about Birdman.
Birdman can simply be described as a "road game" or something to be played amongst close friends. You know that childhood game where you'd make a ring with your fingers and if the person looked into it you get to punch them? It's a more instense version of that.
Basically, if you make eye-contact with someone who's giving you the Birdman face, you have to lay flat on your back - no matter where you are. On the road, in your kitchen, in a restaurant, at the mall: it's all fair game. Meme, BK and I are all really good and crafty at it. It just takes some creativity and a sense of humor and you're off. I think it's hilarious, because it's like the feeling a black person gets when slamming down a Domino, except anyone can play.

The 3 broken sticks? I can't explain that either, because I've been breaking sticks like crazy lately. Even at our cottage show in Kincardine I broke four during one set. Strange.

"2 really tired guys". They went out drinking the night before. Colin barfed under a table at Joe Kool's and I laughed really hard when I heard that. I sided on staying in for a nights sleep.

The fact that the 6 tracks that needed recording was done in 5 hours was a two-sided effort. On my behalf, I was very ready to record and even impressed myself at the speed in which the takes were completed, even though most of the songs were more difficult than the previous recording session. More importantly, our producer Mikey T and recording assistant Jeff worked with a notable expedience that did not go unnoticed. I can honestly say I was thoroughly impressed by their diligence and input they put forth. They met my every demand (such as cue's, playbacks, and coffee breaks) and were patient during equipment change-overs. If there were a manly way to send flowers, those boys would have gardens from me by now.

At the end, the "misunderstanding" was Mike coming in for a hug, which I assumed was a chest-bump. Needless to say, I chest-bumped him and we had a good laugh.

ps. the line from Mike at the end was a Care Bears reference. If that doesn't ring a bell, nothing will.

sit down, stand up

T-Mok and I are going vegetarian and sober this week. So far, so good.

I'm actually not finding the vegetarian part hard at all. There are so many bomb fruits and veg that, in consistency alone, stand proudly next to the finest meats. Assorted mushrooms, avocado, and tomatoes all contain umami which is a beautiful quality that gives certain vegetables and fruit their meaty, hearty taste. Cooking with any of these items is an easy way to sub' meat out of your diet - just learn how to cook with them.

The absence of beer has been the harder of the two.

I'm going to try to write this next part in a way that makes me seem as little like an alcoholic as possible.

I love beer. It's a wonderful thing. That's a point worth making.

Yet however nice it is, like anything, there are limits.
Most times over the summer alcohol is just straight up over-used. I was going to use the word "abused", but that sounds a bit overdone. Abuse usually involves binges beginning in the a.m.
But most of the time, amongst my circle of friends, boozing is just something to do on a nice sunny afternoon or to congratulate yourself on a hard work week over $10 pitchers.

Although fun, it has some restrictions.
I began drinking when I was 19, which is quite uncommon given that most people I've met used to hustle old men or their brothers for Max Ice outside of the LC when they were 13. The bottom line is that I've been drinking long enough to recognize a good time from a shit one. Fifty per cent of the time, it is an absolutely worthy effort to get drunk for i.e. birthdays, essay completion, fridays, exams, sporting events etc. The other fifty usually isn't, and it's something to recognize as one gets older. You can avoid certain outtings by simply dividing what you know of the setting, the day of the week, the occasion (or lack of one), what you're drinking and who's coming. Is getting drunk at that point a good idea? Not really.

I know I can't preach to people about the importance of drinking in moderation, because I am in fact one of the biggest drinkers (in frequency and volume) of beer that I know. But every man's got his limits, unless your an alcoholic of course, and that's a completely different story.

The difficult part that I mentioned earlier is strictly derrived from the pleasure that I get from hanging on a patio with my friends and some brews. So when I walked down Queen Street this afternoon, seeing patios like The Horseshoe Tavern, Black Bull, Smokeless Joe's, and The Rivoli completely packed made me sad I couldn't call my friends for a beer. Because it's not always about the drinking as much as it the aroused senses that come with it.

Either way, this no meat and no beer diet is being coupled with 300 sit-ups a day and nine glasses of water in an effort to cleanse myself for next weeks cottage fest in Sauble Beach, because lord knows there will be plenty of meat and beer up there.

cravings

Sometimes all I really feel like doing is watching Boyz in the Hood. I honestly get a craving to watch this once every two weeks, just below The Last Waltz and Citizen Kane.

I consider it a small masterpiece. A little slice of 90's Americana set in the South side of Los Angeles. Everyone's performances are unique and memorable, and there's just enough gritty storyline and character development that it keeps your eyes peeled to the screen from start to finish.

Additionally, it has easily the greatest movie dad in cinematic history. Furious Styles (played by Lawrence Fishburn), is a take-no-shit kind of dad that'll give you "rubbers", eat admiring neighbours' bbq'd ribs, fix your fade, and still pay the bills and love you by the end of the day. If I were up for adoption and Furious Styles walked into the room, I'd be like "Shit yeah, take me home daddyo". Even Rotten Tomatoes gave Furious the top honor in their Fathers Day Special called "Top 5 Movie Dads of All Time" click on it to watch.

Plus, everytime Ice Cube's character is on screen he has an Olde E in his hand (except for the flash back to when they were kids at the beginning). So gangster. In fact, I might host a forty party in my house in the future where we do nothing but drink OE and watch Boyz in Hood quietly and let Furious teach us about sex ed. Shit yeah.

i didn't think we had it in us

What started as an innocent trip to the grocery store turned into one of the most violent and radical days to hit my life thus far.

Clearly, I am talking about the recent G20 summit that hit Toronto this past weekend. To not write this on paper would be a devastation to myself. Tess and I were curious to investigate some of the protests we'd heard might be happening downtown Saturday afternoon, so we used our trip to Metro as added incentive to head towards Yonge Street.

After about 20 minutes of produce shopping, security came over the loud speaker to inform us that the building will be locked due to external security threats. I brushed this off as some power-tripping paranoid tactic used to keep everyone under lock and key from something that was hardly considered a threat. This was a very dangerous assumption. Everyone in Metro was asked to move to the back of the store, where we patiently waited in the seafood isle for nearly 30 minutes. Luckily, a man was there that had an iPhone that could stream CP24, which came in handy when discovering that the entire exterior of the building which we were in the basement of was smashed to shit.After waiting another long stint, we were released, and the shit had already hit the fan. I mean that somewhat literally, in the case of American Apparel.


The windows of over 40 established businesses had been destroyed on Yonge street alone. The Time Hortons and Starbucks at the corner of Yonge and College had taken the worst two beatings I'd seen. Car-sized holes had been smashed through the glass windows. Chairs were thrown amongst the street. Displays were carefully "rearranged". Businesses were looted. It was fucking chaos.

We walked everywhere. Once we made it to Bay St. and Adelaide we noticed a heard of people running down the narrow streets only to be followed by a battalion (how often do I get to use that word, really) of riot police and a vehicle that I can only artfully describe as a tank; a tank that stopped for no man or woman. Police created perimeters around the peaceful protests and refused advancements towards city hall, where Jazz Fest had been poorly scheduled (would you like broken glass and flames with your Oscar Peterson covers in the key of C#?).

Finally, we concluded our day with a little organized chaos, ending up in Queens Park. After sneaking our way around the hundreds of officers clad in riot gear and shields, we were on the front lines. For those of you who haven't witnessed any of the Queens Park events in the media, let me describe it as such.

1. People get mad. People start yelling.
2. Riot police in groups of 30 or more forcefully charge aforementioned People.
3. People run for their lives, scared shitless by large men with shields and bats.
4. People stop running. Start yelling again.
5. Riot police release additional riot tactics, including mounted officers, tear gas, paint balls, and rubber bullets. Police reestablish and expand riot line another 100 yards forward, moving North.
6. People run. Some get gassed, some get trampled, some get arrested and beaten.
7. Six guys yell "Pussies!!"

Hey! Who are those handsome dudes seen at 0:25 in that clip? No less than A-Laye and some shawty gettin his grocery list on. (Huge bigs to DP for finding this clip. A true internet G)

And this goes on for about 3 hours. I was one of the people. Thankfully, I was not one of the trampled or gassed, but the danger was very real. I can hopefully say I'll never experience something that forceful for the rest of my life, but I was there willingly, so I couldn't complain if I did.

To talk about the rest of the actions seen throughout Saturday and Sunday would be irrelevant, because you can't even take a shit in your own home without hearing about the ridiculous actions that took place during the Summit.

I must admit that the violence and irreverence that took place throughout the city was absolutely inexplicable and inexcusable. The members of the Black Bloc, as well as the other "anarchist" zeroes that decided to smash stores acted like a bunch of cowards that obviously weren't concerned with the changing of political policies or overthrowing of governments and corporations. They were there for the single purpose of smashing shit under the guise of civilians.



Let me tell you something. Broken glass does not change jack shit. You think a few broken windows are going to change anything? You can throw bricks all day and night and it won't change dick about these corporations you're inflicting violence upon. You think Bell is going to lose sleep over having to call a repair man in the morning to fix a fucking window?
This type of shit is completely amateur and speaks nothing of the words "revolution" or "overthrow". Even as I sit in my chair now, so angered that I can't even get my hands to move fast enough to type, these shitheads are back home getting their moms to wash their black ski masks, lighting a joint, and listening to Rage Against the Machine. You threw a chair. Whoopdy fucking woo.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for the majority of the peaceful protests that took place throughout the summit, but smashing up a few retail outlets simply makes no sense and will change nothing except the status of your boner.

i figure...

..if I'm paying for my hydro bills, which includes the power running to my refrigerator, I might as well just start freezing the clothes I don't wear very often, just to see what happens to them. Just trying to keep my gear nice and fresh. Yep, that's it....

I'm freezing my clothes.

show my some skin

As I made my way downtown this morning to pick up my developed negatives (something which is worth writing about in its own right), I could hear some pleasant ruckus heading south down Spadina Ave. at the corner of College St.

Not to my surprise, it was about 150 people all cycling, naked.

I've said it before, but I love this city. I have not once looked out onto the landscape and felt tiresome about living here. No matter how long I've lived here there's still mystery around every corner, in every neighborhood, within every bar. Just when you think you've come to grips with your area, a friend takes you down a back alley and it's a whole new ray of light. I'm not phased whatsoever by the fact that I have to live here for probably four more years.

As for todays marathon, that stuff happens all the time.

Here's a clip from a ride from the past.